


Charlie in Wonderland

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Future Fic, Gen, Happy Ending, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 19:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After spending four months full of adventure in the Land of Oz, Charlie returns back home. But it turns out that the real adventure is just beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Charlie in Wonderland

After taking one last long look at the magical land that’s put her through so many adventures, shown her places she’d never even dreamed about and given her more friends than she could ever hope for, Charlie sighs and exchanges a knowing, slightly tearful look with Dorothy.

Dorothy, God bless her, doesn’t say anything; she’s already repeated everything important a thousand times and she knows Charlie’s answer is not going to change.

It’s time to go home.

Charlie steps forward to the house that has come to represent safety and comfort in this land and inserts the key into the lock on the green-painted door. When she opens it and steps through, no old warped wooden floorboards squeak under her shoes; she’s standing on hard, concrete floor instead.

She stares at the Men of Letters garage – because it _is_ the garage, no matter how different it looks now, housing vehicles that she doesn’t even recognize – and jumps when she hears the door slam shut behind her. She turns to look at it, but it’s already closed. She resolutely pushes aside the sudden rush of sentiment and pockets the key as she starts walking.

When she sees the Impala parked between two futuristic-looking motorcycles, Charlie breathes out in relief and gives the car a little wave. The Winchesters must still be here, there's no way Dean would ever leave his Baby behind.

The other door to the garage creaks open and on hard-won instinct, Charlie’s hand goes to her waist, grabbing for her sword, which, of course, is not there because she gave it to Woodie so he had something to remember her by.

She’s apparently in no danger though because what comes through that door is no witch, no flying monkey, nor a Kalidah. It is a boy, probably about twelve years old, give or take a couple of years – Charlie’s never been that good with kids, okay? – and he stares at her with the same surprise that must be showing on her own face.

“Um… Hi?” She tries tentatively and gives him what she hopes is a friendly smile.

The boy doesn’t smile back and he doesn’t come any closer, but he’s not running away, so she takes that as a good thing. “Who’re you?” He asks finally and she thinks he might be trying to make his voice lower than it usually is to appear more threatening.

It’s kind of adorable, but Charlie, being the intelligent young woman she is, figures she shouldn’t laugh. “My name is Charlie.”

The kid’s eyes widen and his eyebrows climb up his forehead, making her task of not laughing even more difficult. “Charlie? Like, Charlie Bradbury?”

It’s Charlie’s turn to raise her eyebrows now. “Well, yes.”

Taking a few steps forward but still eying her with some amount of wariness, the boy says, “You’re the real Charlie Bradbury? The hot redhead who helped save the world from Leviathans, killed the Wicked Witch and then went to Oz with Dorothy?”

Charlie giggles a bit nervously, she certainly wasn’t expecting this. “Guess that’s me.”

The boy examines her closely before shrugging. “Thought you’d be prettier. With bigger boobs.”

“Hey!”  Charlie resists covering her chest protectively, resting her hands on her hips instead, and glares indignantly at the kid, enjoying the fact that she’s over a head taller than him. This must be what Sam Winchester feels like all the time, she thinks absently. “How do you know me anyway?”

The boy shrugs again, like she’s stupid for even asking. “Uncle Dean tells us stories about you before we have to go to bed sometimes.” He pauses and chuckles at something, a slight blush coloring his already rosy cheeks. “My favorite is the one where you hook up with this powerful good witch and…”

But Charlie isn’t listening anymore, still stuck on _Uncle Dean_.

Then she notices another thing that seems amiss. The boy is wearing a white t-shirt with the Olympic circles and the words _Prague 2030_ written under it. The shirt looks worn and washed out.

The suspicion that’s been growing inside Charlie ever since she stepped into the garage gets stronger. Dorothy had told her these things can happen sometimes when you travel between dimensions; Charlie just didn’t think it would happen to _her_. She's already had her share of adventurous quests, than you very much.

“You alright?” The boy asks with what looks like real concern, even if it’s still spiked with a pinch of mistrust. Charlie totally approves of that. One can never be too careful and this kid is smart to know that.

She forces herself to smile again. “Yeah, just a bit... jet-lagged, I guess. You think you could take me to Dean?”

The kid starts to nod, but changes his mind and shakes it instead. “Gotta make sure it’s really you first. You could be a shapeshifter or something.”

“I am not!”

Pulling out a switchblade from his back pocket, the boy reaches out to hand it to her. “Prove it.”

Charlie scowls at him but takes the knife. “Okay.”  She rolls up her sleeve and ignores the boy's shocked, sharp intake of breath that inevitably comes when the boy sees her scar. She’s gotten used to that reaction, it doesn’t bother her anymore. "Let's see now." She makes a short, shallow cut across her forearm, just deep enough so some blood wells up, and presents it to the kid, who inspects it before nodding approvingly.

“I’ll take you to Dean,” the boy accepts the blade she gives back to him and closes it with a practiced move before shoving it back into his pocket. “I’m George, by the way.” He holds out his hand and she shakes it, almost yelping at his strong grip. He’s got really large hands, with wide, rough palms and thick fingers, smeared with oil at the fingertips.

George catches her staring and gives her a defiant look. “I spend a lot of time in the workshop, okay? Dean says I’m a real talent.” The last sentence is said with open pride, as if Dean’s praise means a lot to the boy. “Now let’s go.”

Not sure what to say, Charlie follows him out of the garage and up the stairs that lead to the upper floors of the bunker. The weird thing is that the whole place is much homier than the last time Charlie was here, it actually has that lived-in, cozy look.

And yes, it’s definitely livelier. As they climb up the stairs and walk through the bunker’s hallways, they encounter more children, both boys and girls, ranging from little kids to teenagers. George informs everyone who Charlie is and soon there’s a whole procession of people following them, excited voices loudly whispering “Charlie is back” and "cool get-up" and "hush, she'll hear you" and "you hush, jerk" and "shut up, bitch".

It used to make Charlie really nervous, having that much attention concentrated on her, but not anymore. After spending over four months in Oz where the words “that’s the girl from another dimension who killed the Wicked Witch” were whispered practically everywhere she went, she kinda got used to it. Well, except for the “you’re going to die for killing her!” part, shouted at her by the Wicked Witch’s former followers.

A familiar deep voice pulls Charlie out of her memories: “What the Hell’s this ruckus all about? If you kids broke the ping pong table again you're screwed 'cause I’m not fixing it this ti–“

Dean stops mid-word, stands frozen to the spot, mouth agape, staring at Charlie as if he saw a ghost. She can’t really blame him, considering the situation. The situation being that apparently here, on Earth, much more time than just four months has passed. Probably more like several decades, judging by the way Dean looks.

Not that he looks bad, just… older. Still standing straight and tall, maybe a bit thinner than she remembers, short-cropped hair flecked with grey, the wrinkles around his face too deep and pronounced to be called laugh lines anymore. He's... weathered, that sounds like the right word. Still definitely handsome though.

Charlie waves her hand sheepishly. “What’s up, bitch?”

Dean finally moves, a blur of red flannel, and Charlie finds herself wrapped in a hug so crushing that it knocks the air out of her. She leans into it though because she’s missed those hugs, and only starts squirming and patting Dean’s back desperately when the need to breathe becomes too urgent to be ignored.

Dean gets the hint quickly and releases out of the hug, but he keeps his hands on Charlie’s shoulders like he doesn’t want to let go, like he needs to keep touching her to make sure she’s real.

“It’s really me,” she tells him, surprised to find that her voice is shaking.

“And she’s not a shifter,” George pipes in. “I checked.”

Tearing his eyes away from Charlie, Dean gives George a curt nod and a simple “Thanks, man” that has the boy beaming with pride.

But Dean’s voice also sounds shaky, and Charlie belatedly realizes it’s even deeper than it used to be, which is something that she didn’t actually think possible. Dean draws in a deep breath and looks at the crowd that’s gathered in the main room. “Okay, kids, I’m gonna take some time and talk to my friend Charlie alone. Haven’t seen her in a while, got a lot to catch up.”

With murmured words of affirmation, the crowd starts to dissipate, the oldest teenagers walking away slowly, dignifiedly, acting like well-behaved adults; the younger children running off in all directions, laughing and crowing as they go.

Suddenly alone in the spacey room, Charlie and Dean are at loss for words.

“You cut your hair,” he breaks the silence finally, sounding a bit awkward.

She reaches out with one hand to touch it, tucks a strand that’s actually already grown too long for her liking back behind her ear.

“You look pretty awesome though,” Dean adds quickly, at which Charlie smiles satisfiedly because she _knows_ , they do have mirrors in Oz after all, and the admiring looks she’s been getting from both men and women there could also be a clue.

Dean is still looking at her hair, so she feels obliged to explain, “It turns out long hair is really impractical in a fight, even in if you wear it in a Lara Croft braid.”

He snorts. “ _Thank_ you! I’ve been trying to tell Sam my whole life.”

“Speaking of which, where’s the taller Winchester?” She was expecting to see him somewhere around since his son, George, is here.

“Oh, don’t worry, he’ll get here ASAP once he hears about you,” Dean pulls out something that looks remotely like an iPhone out of his pocket and mutters, “Sam, get your ass over here, Charlie’s come back. Oh, and grab some beer on your way here, okay? ... No, dude, I’m not bullshitting you,” he sighs theatrically and makes an annoyed face at the phone. “Bye.”

Charlie shifts on her feet restlessly. “So…”

“I need a drink,” Dean says and fishing out a key from his pocket, he unlocks a cabinet that stands by the wall to take out two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. “Let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?”

They end up in Dean’s room.

Well, it is the room that used to be Dean’s the last time Charlie was here, anyway. It looks different now, though. For starters, there aren’t as many weapons on the wall, only a few pictures of them, except for that crude, huge, wicked-looking blade with the bone handle. Secondly, there is a bookshelf full of books, most of them classical, heavyweight literature. And thirdly, the bed seems to be made for two - two pillows, two nighstands with two bedside lamps, all that.

Dean notices her surprise, of course, and offers her a small shrug and a smile. “Cas made me lose the weapons once he moved in with me.”

Castiel moved in with Dean? As in, Destiel is real? Charlie kind of wants to jump up and down with joy, but she has a feeling Dean wouldn't appreciate that very much so she sinks onto the bed, trying to take it in as quietly and with as much dignity as she can muster.

“Here,” Dean hands her a glass of whiskey before sprawling in a chair next to the bed and taking a sip of his own drink.

She follows suit, downing the whole glass in one go. She's by no means an expert on booze, but she can tell this is good stuff, tastes old. Which brings her back to the question she’s been afraid to ask ever since she figured out what was going on. “Dean… How long was I gone?”

“The year's 2038,” he says and chuckles when she frowns. “What, you wanted me to do the _ten years, five months and twenty-six days_ stuff they always say on TV? I don’t know how long it’s been, you’re the genius here, do the math yourself!”

She does, in an instant. “Twenty-five years. I… I’ve been gone for a quarter century.” The rational, emotionally detached part of her informs her how lucky she was not to have any really close friends or family here on Earth. That would totally be a problem now.

“A lot to take in, huh?” The smile Dean gives her is warm and understanding, like he knows what she’s going through. Of course he knows, Charlie realizes, mentally rolling her eyes at herself; he spent forty years in Hell while mere months passed topside. It’s kind of the opposite of her experience, but still if anyone can relate, it would probably be him.

“We looked for you,” Dean mutters, staring fixedly at the whiskey in his glass. “When you weren’t coming back. Tried to find another key to get there, but…” He grimaces and shakes his head, knocks back the whiskey and grimaces again before meeting her eyes. “How long was it for you anyway?”

“A bit over four months.”

"Wow." He opens the whiskey bottle again and pours himself another glass, then stands up and fills Charlie’s glass too. He leaves the bottle standing on the floor and settles on the bed next to her. “How the fuck did that happen? There wasn’t any time difference when Dorothy came back from Oz the first time, so why now?”

“I’m not really sure,” Charlie admits. “But she warned me it might happen, said travelling through dimensions can get wonky.”

“Yeah,” he barks out a laugh, “understatement of the year.” He turns his head to look at her, the gaze of those hazel green eyes still as intense and piercing as it used to be. He watches her face searchingly. “So… was it worth it? The adventure?”

Charlie closes her eyes and flash-forwards through the four most adventurous, dangerous, exciting, frightening, eye-opening, unforgettable months of her life. Images of magical places and friendly faces rise up in her mind, bringing a smile to her lips. “Yeah, I think it was.”

Dean heaves a breath of relief and clinks his glass against hers in salute. “Good. That’s… good. You're gonna have to tell us all about it once everyone gets here."

"Oh, and it's gonna be a pretty good story." She remembers what George told her back down in the garage. "There was no hooking up with a powerful good witch though, I'm afraid."

Dean makes a long face. "Really?"

She feels the need to cheer him up immediately. "But there was this really hot freedom fighter, kinda like Xena, only she wore more clothing." Dean perks up at that and she gives him a conspiratorial wink. "Unless we were alone, of course." She'll never forget the sound of that ringing laughter or the touch of those strong, skillful hands. "She also taght me how to hold my own in a sword fight."

"That sounds pretty epic," Dean nods, impressed, and takes one of Charlie's hands in his, examines the hardened skin, the calluses. "So why'd you decide to come back then?"

“Ah, I don’t know,” she shrugs and takes only a small, careful sip of the whiskey this time. She doesn’t want to get drunk, there’s so much to talk about and she wants to remember it all. “It just… felt right, you know? After all, every epic journey has to end with the hero coming back home, right? It’s _Hobbit: There and Back Again_ , not _Hobbit: Just There_.”

That makes Dean laugh. It’s a loud, free, bubbling laugh she’s never heard from him before, and she instantly falls in love with it. Ironically, it makes him appear younger than he was when she last saw him, like they weight of the world that’s always been crushing his shoulders has been lifted off him and he can finally stand tall and unburdened.

“God, Charlie, I’ve missed you,” he mutters when he’s done laughing and wraps one arm around her, pulling her close to him. She rests her head on his shoulder and enjoys the silent moment, just the two of them sitting there, sharing a drink, Dean’s warm, large hand gently rubbing up and down her arm. She leans closer into the warmth of his body and has to suppress her inner fangirl’s squee when that close proximity allows her to find out that under all that Winchester denim and flannel, there are still some pretty solid muscles hidden.

“You’re looking really good, considering,” she says and immediately winces. That didn't come out sounding very good.

Dean doesn't seem to take offence. “That’s because Sam and Cas teamed up against me and they make me _eat healthy_ ,” he laments, but when she squints at him, she can see that he’s grinning. “Not much I could do about it anyway, couldn’t protest if I wanted to be a good example for my kids.”

She sits up abruptly, breaking loose from his embrace. “Yeah, the kids! So what’s up with them? I met Sam’s son in the garage–“

“Sammy doesn’t have any sons,” Dean interrupts her.

Charlie frowns. “So why did George call you Uncle Dean?”

“They’ve gotta call me something,” comes the not so very explicatory answer. Apparently, some things never change.

“Who’s _they_?”

“My kids,” he replies as if it was the most obvious thing ever, but pauses when he sees her uncomprehending look. “It’s a long story.”

She elbows him in the ribs. “So make it short.”

“Great, now she's even bossier,” he mutters under his breath. “Alright. Short version? We quit hunting about ten years ago, figured we’d leave it up to the younger and smarter hunters to save the world from now on. It’s not really full retirement, we just don’t search out monsters like we used to, only work local jobs or go help with a situation when we’re asked to, but mostly we’re civilians now.”

“Wow.” That’s really something. “You made it. Death isn’t the only way out.”

He nods and continues with his story. “Sammy ended up as a professor here at KU, teaches mythology and folklore. His classes are really popular, too,” Dean says in that classical proud, loving older brother tone, easily turning the moment into a broment even though Sam isn’t here yet. “He met Tara at the university, she teaches law there. They actually got married, settled down in Lawrence, of all places, did the whole 2.5 kids, house, white picket fence thing.” Dean takes a sip of his whiskey before meeting Charlie’s eyes. “He’s real happy, you know.”

“And you?” Charlie demands, because none of what Dean’s told her so far explains why the bunker is chock-full of children who know about hunting and Charlie and call Dean Uncle. “I always hoped you’d get a family too, end up with some hot chick and have your own kids.”

“I have a family,” Dean waves his hand around vaguely, “and more kids than I can handle sometimes. No hot chicks though. Only a hot fallen angel.” A different kind of loving look crosses Dean’s face. “Cas decided to stay with me even after Heaven was opened for business again. He said one human lifetime down here with me is worth much more than eternity up there. Sentimental son of a bitch.”  He pauses, looking pensive. “I never would’ve pulled this off without him.”

Charlie can’t stand the suspense anymore, it’s like Dean is doing this on purpose. “Pulled _what_ off? Who are these kids?”

“Don’t raise your voice on your elders, _young lady_ ,” Dean wags one finger at her in mock warning, then shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. I get carried away sometimes.”

“This young lady is gonna kick your ass if you don’t start answering questions,” she sends back a warning of her own and backs it up with her most badass expression.

It only makes him laugh again, but he throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good now. These kids you saw around here? They’re… you could call them casualties of war, I guess. These are orphans, their families were killed by demons or other things that go bump in the night.”

A chill runs through Charlie. This is the part of living an adventurous life that she’ll never get used to, never come to terms with. “Oh. Sorry.”

Dean nods, a tight, mirthless smile on his lips. “I’ve always been kinda good with kids, don’t really know why they like me but for some reason they do.” Charlie’s got a whole list of reasons why but she doesn’t want to interrupt him now that he’s finally talking, so she keeps her mouth shut. “I figured I could take them in, give them a home where they can openly talk about their trauma without having to worry about being called crazy, a place where they’d be taught how to make sure something like that never happens to them again.”

“So you’re training them to become hunters?”

Looking almost offended, Dean shakes his head resolutely. “God, no. This isn't a hunter boot camp, it's a pretty normal children’s home, I’ve had an old friend of mine help me set it up. The kids go to school, play sports, go to the movies, all the normal kid stuff. The supernatural self-defence is just a bonus. I teach them the basics about monsters, you know, like how to keep them out of your house, how to defend yourself. But I’m not taking them on hunts or anything.”

“That’s… actually pretty cool,” she decides after giving it a thought. “You’re giving them a chance to face their fears and then move on.”

He blushes and looks down at the glass in his hand, as if he doesn’t know what to do with the praise. “It’s not always as easy as it sounds,” he says bitterly with a sigh. “Most of these kids have seen some pretty messed up stuff and no matter how hard you try, you know they’re gonna carry those scars with them for the rest of their lives.” He takes a long sip of the whiskey, holds it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “There’s been some pretty bad days. Or nights, that I’d sit through by some kid’s bed so I’d be there when their nightmares come." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I felt like I should just give it up.”

“But you didn’t,” she interjects, placing a consoling hand on his knee. “You never do. Giving up isn’t even in Dean Winchester’s vocabulary.”

Dean sniggers. “That's bullshit, and it also sounds like a line from _Supernatural_ fanfiction.”

That reminds Charlie of something. “Hey, what happened to the book series? Did Edlund write more?”

That gets her a scolding, slightly annoyed look, but reluctantly, Dean answers. “Yeah, they actually became more popular for some time, even got published again.”

“Oh, really?” She already can’t wait to read them.

He rolls his eyes at her unabashed excitement. “Yeah. We lost some fans when me and Cas… uh… got together,” he blushes again, hiding his eyes under those eyelashes that are BTW still pretty enviable. “But most of them stayed. That is, until we quit hunting.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. Guess the fans don’t really care for the ‘and they lived happily ever after’. You gotta admit it’s kinda boring.”

“It’s not boring! The Winchester boys could never be boring!” She says it very adamantly, feeling offended and disappointed by the unfaithful, ungrateful fandom, already forming an outline of a blog post where she’s going to express her outrage.

“No, just think about it,” Dean opposes with a smirk. “’Sam and Dean eat a salad.’ ‘Sam and Dean get their cholesterol checked.’ ‘Sam has to buy glasses because his eyesight got bad from grading papers at night.’ ‘Dean spends six hours filling out paperwork for the children’s home only to learn that he has to start over again because he used the wrong forms.’”

“But–“

“Come on, even in the most popular books the boring stuff always gets skipped. In none of them you actually see us digging through old volumes and local newspapers all night, you just see the moment where one of us says ‘Got it!’ and that’s all. And you know why?” He leans in, his nose practically in Charlie’s face. “Because it’s _boring_.”

Charlie pouts sulkily and Dean just keeps on talking animatedly, as if this was the most important topic to discuss. “But if you give them a big, epic, tragic storyline, they’re hooked. ‘Sam discovers Dean’s allowed an angel to possess his body without his consent –‘“

“What?”

“’– and leaves, not talking to Dean for over six months and hunting on his own,’” Dean ignores her question completely, “now _that’s_ a story they like. Or ‘Castiel gets possessed by an evil angel and almost beats Dean to death, but manages to overcome the angel’s hold on him and turns it against him, trapping the angel inside his body and using his powers at his own will.’” He grins. “I gotta admit, that was pretty badass. And then there’s the ‘Dean gets colossally pissed off and walks right into Hell to get rid of that sleazy bastard Crowley once and for all’ storyline.”

“You went to Hell again?”

“Yep,” Dean gives her a cocky, self-satisfied smirk. “Right through the main gate, too.”

She really has to read those books. It seems like missed a lot of good stuff.

“Oh my God!” She cries out suddenly, making Dean jump. “How many episodes of _Dr. Who_ have I missed?” She gasps, dread pooling in her stomach. “It still airs, right? That show is immortal. They couldn’t have cancelled _Dr. Who_.”

Dean stares at her blankly. “I don’t know what that is.” Seeing her shocked expression, he quickly adds, “But I’m sure we can ask some of the kids, they’ll get you the episodes you missed easily. No big deal.”

Charlie isn’t consoled by that though as more and more ideas come to her mind. “How about _World of Warcraft_? Do people even play PC games these days? And do they still LARP? Please tell me this isn't some dystopian future where people aren't allowed to have fun! And what about music? And -”

There are so many questions she has to ask, so much could have changed in twenty-five years.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, it all hits her like a ton of bricks at that moment, like that truck that smashed into the Impala in the _Devil's Trap_ novel. It's as if the reality of what’s happened has only been lurking around the edges of Charllie's mind so far and now it’s decided to march right in. Charlie can’t seem to catch her breath and her hands start shaking so hard she drops the tumbler from her fingers, the glass shattering as it hits the floor, the whiskey making a wet splotch on the rug.

She came back to a different world, a strange place. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be; Bilbo Baggins didn’t come back from his journey to find Shire a changed place. A hero returns from his travels changed on the inside, which is contrasted with the constancy of his hometown, his homeland. Yes, there may be _some_ changes, like Bilbo finding out that his relatives were trying to take his Bag End from him after his presumed death, but that doesn’t – can’t – possibly compare to this.

“I’m alone in a completely strange land,” Charlie sobs in a small voice, her whole body shaking with the pain of it, hot tears burning in her eyes and blurring the alien, hostile world around her.

Dean’s face gets into her field of vision, close and determined, almost angry. “You’re _not_ alone, Charlie, you hear me? You’re not alone.”

She’s not aware how it happens, but somehow she finds herself curled up into a small, sobbing ball of misery on the bed with Dean leaning over her protectively, rubbing one hand up and down her back, the other hand stroking her hair. He’s whispering calm, soothing words that her brain doesn’t register but her soul welcomes gratefully, easily hearing the promise of love, friendship and support behind them.

She still cries for a long time, long after she runs out of tears, her body still wracked with painful sobs that only die down little by little, until she can finally breathe again.

Dean keeps stroking her even after she quiets down, holding her gaze the whole time, eyes warm and compassionate as he hums old classic rock songs to her softly, over and over again.

She falls asleep to the slightly off-key melody of _Nothing Else Matters_.

*

When she wakes up, Dean is still there, watching her with that soft, protective gentleness that reminds Charlie of the way her mom used to look at her when she was little.

Once Dean catches her staring at him, his smile grows wider. “Hey there.”

Charlie can’t respond with anything else but a smile of her own. “Hey.” She shifts, sits up, disentangles herself from the blanket that Dean must’ve covered her with when she was asleep, and stretches out her arms with a yawn.

“You wanna sleep some more?” He offers, the way he poses the question clearly signaling that it’s okay for her to say yes.

She shakes her head though. “No, I’m good, I guess.”

His eyes narrow as he observes her closely before he nods. “Alright, kid. How about we get you something to eat?”

There’s another smile tugging at her lips. “You really are the perfect mother hen, aren’t you?”

“I do my best. Come on.” He gets off the bed, moving a bit stiffly. “Cas and Sam are already here, I'm sure they can’t wait to see you.”

“Okay,” she says as butterflies start dancing in her stomach, and she sways on her feet a little. How different is Sam going to be? And Castiel, who she hasn’t actually even _met_ yet?

Dean notices her uneasiness and reaches out to place a steadying hand on her arm, squeezing reassuringly before letting go. “It’s gonna be fine, you hear me? I know it’s gonna take some time adjusting to all the changes, but I promise you, all the important stuff's remained the same. Well, the internet’s free and same-sex marriage’s legal in all fifty states, but…”

Her eyes are drawn to his left hand where she notices a simple steel band on his ring finger, and just like that, she’s grinning like an idiot, all nervousness pushed aside. “Dean Winchester decided to tie the knot? That’s a pretty big change.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles good-naturedly before he gets serious again. “Listen, Charlie, you can stay here as long as you want, get some rest, adapt. But once you’re ready, I’ll go with you and show you all the wonders of this new world.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Charlie looks him in the eyes. “Okay, I think I’m ready now.”

Smiling softly, Dean opens the door and holds it for her. “After you.”

Charlie takes a deep breath and steps across the threshold.

 

The End


End file.
